So Hard
by Dukes126plus
Summary: He must’ve been asleep the day the math teacher taught them that a circle can never be a point. From Nothin' But the Truth. /Warnings: Slash, incest, borderline language./


The sodium pentathol premise -- no 1970s-80s series was complete without it. _Nothing But the Truth_ was Dukes' salute to it. And this vignette uses it to get things started. Sort of. It also comments on the week's excuse to get Daisy in a bikini.

* * *

"I'd like to get some truth serum into you, is what I'd like," Bo says, like he's got a point. He must've been asleep the day the math teacher taught them that a circle can never be a point.

"What do you need to give me truth serum for?" And why in hell are they arguing anyway? They were just driving along all peaceful in the pink air of a Hazzard twilight, enjoying the freedom that the few hours of recovery that Boss and his police department had left, after busting their own gambling ring and losing their thirty percent profit. Now Bo's yelling at him for things he hasn't done, or hasn't said, whichever. "I'm a Duke, I don't lie." Mislead, yeah. Lie – well, never to another Duke.

His hands automatically fly forward to keep his face from slamming into the dashboard, as Bo skids the General to an abrupt stop. Holds onto his breath while the dust settles around them, because he has learned the hard way that red clay in the lungs makes for a miserable bunch of minutes of trying to cough it back up.

"Then tell me this, Luke," Bo chokes out. His cousin never can wait to say what's on his mind, even when it's best for his health that he does. "You was enjoying taking pictures of Daisy in that," arms flailing, and Luke considers pumping him on the back, but it's not a cough that's go his cousin all worked up. "Bikini thing."

Red bikini thing, to be exact. Presently bunched in the back seat where Daisy left it lie after she slipped back out of it. Cute and demure about it, put her clothes on first, then slid it out from underneath.

"She's a nice subject," Luke agreed. "Artistically speaking."

"Dang it, Luke." He almost gets kicked by Bo's wanton legs, struggling to get himself out of the General's window. "You ain't supposed to enjoy looking at Daisy that way."

What?

"Hold on, Bo! Now wait a minute," he says, grabbing the ankle that's closest, pulling his spastic cousin back down into his seat. Crooked and low, that's the way Bo lands, leaving Luke with a lap full of leg and a cowboy boot on his knee. Which is fine, he's not so worried about Bo's physical condition as the way his brain's obviously gotten itself a loose wire. It's one thing to worry after Daisy's virtue; they both spend weeks out of any month beating on men they would sympathize with if only it wasn't Daisy that was making their eyeballs pop out of their sockets. It just doesn't make a lick of sense that Bo's thinking Luke's got intentions towards the girl. "I's kidding. I ain't enjoyed taking pictures of her and there weren't no film in that old camera anyways. What was fun was knowing you was over there dismantling Cletus's car."

Bo's eyes watch him suspiciously, even as he starts to reclaim his various too-long limbs from where they're sprawled all over the car.

"All right," Bo finally answers, then tries to pretend he never had that car-skidding fit to begin with. Reaching for the ignition, and Luke catches his hand. This is part of what it means to team-drive: Luke decides when the General gets turned on or off. Bo handles the steering wheel and not much else.

"All right? What the hell was that about, Bo?" After all, he wasn't the one who spent his teen years drooling over their cousin, interspersed with the occasional proposal of marriage.

"It weren't nothing, Luke." Oh, but it was, there's a rosy pink in Bo's face that can't be blamed entirely on the sunset. "Would you let go of my dang hand?"

"Bo." Luke figures they better get this part square right away. Because if what's under his cousin's skin is what Luke thinks it is, there are going to be a lot of fistfights in their immediate future. And he reckons Jesse had better be warned not to bother with the squirrel gun, because no amount of shooting is going to make him stop trying to pound some sense into Bo. "You hot for Daisy?"

Big blue eyes surrounded by all that pink, and his cousin unaccountably resembles a goldfish. Especially with the way his mouth opens and closes before he gets around to answering.

"No, I ain't hot for Daisy. What kind of a fool notion is that, Luke?" Incredulous look that's just too angry to be anything but believable. Bo yanks his hand back away from Luke's, away from the keys, and he's grabbing around for a grip on the General's roof again. No way in hell he's getting out, though. Luke's got ahold of his thigh, and no amount of wriggling is going to be sufficient to make him turn it loose.

"Bo," Luke's yelling, because the fool will fight until exhausted if Luke lets him. Besides, that right hand is swinging around, threatening to make contact with Luke's eye, and if it succeeds, they'll have a lot of explaining to do whenever they get back home. "Simmer down. Just sit, Bo."

Which is a close enough word to describe Bo's position when he gives up the fight. Slouch, slump, neck wrenching lean against the door might be other ways to go about saying it. Luke's still got one hand on Bo's right thigh in case he gets and more fool ideas. Meanwhile his other hand's resting on Bo's right forearm, moving mindlessly, just trying to keep him settled.

"I believe you ain't hot for Daisy, all right?" Bo nods, but doesn't look any happier to be where he is instead of climbing out of the car. "I believe you. I just don't understand what's got into you, is all."

Bo's head's still jiggling up and down. Considering the way it's propped against the frame of the car, that can't be very comfortable, but his cousin seems to need to make sure Luke knows he agrees. "Me neither," he mutters, in case Luke can't get the meaning the other way. "You ain't gonna let me get out of the car, are you?"

"Nope." Because if Bo's on foot, Luke's only going to have to follow him anyway. And out there they could actually get some leverage to hurt each other. Best to stay in here where the worst thing that can happen is a sissy slap.

"And you ain't going to let me drive us home." Bo's just sharing things they both already know.

"Not until you start making sense."

"Shoot, Luke, I can't do that," Bo sighs.

"Bo."

"Now don't go getting all riled up," his cousin says, like it's him that's been thrashing around in the General's passenger compartment. "I'm gonna tell you. It just ain't gonna make sense. Close your eyes, Luke."

No way. He doesn't even have to open his mouth, just turn his head to the right, and before it can make it back left, Bo's protesting.

"I ain't going nowheres. You can keep your hands on me, that way if I try to get away, you can grab me, all right?" Sounds almost too logical, Bo's not exactly a—"Trust me, wouldja?" Yeah, that sounds more like his cousin.

He tries to relax enough to let his eyelids settle, but it's only been a couple of months since Boss Hogg had him hypnotized. He knows Bo would never do that; still the way he's moving under Luke's hand isn't exactly relaxing. His eyes squeeze open despite his best efforts.

"Close them, Luke," Bo says and he's sitting up now. "And keep them that way."

"I'm trying. Bo, what are you—"

Talking has to stop, what with the way Bo's hand is coming up into his face. "Relax. I'm just going to cover your eyes," his cousin's telling him. "You ain't got to make this so hard, Luke."

Hard? What does Bo know about hard? Close your eyes and trust me – and it's not like Hazzard's the kind of place where a man should do either of those things. Now there's a sweaty palm slapped over his eyes, and another one on his shoulder, and Bo's complaining that Luke's making things hard? That's just—

Lips. Covering his. Just lips, just fingers digging into his skin trying to hold him still while his own hand clutches at Bo's thigh, and what is he doing still holding onto that? All the same, it's hard enough, makes for a good contrast to the soft lips, gives him something solid to hold onto. Luke leans back until his head finds something to rest against, roll bar. Bo follows him, hand still over his eyes, lips still covering his. There's a shift in the weight against him, a change in the angle of that thigh, and Bo must be getting a knee under himself. The seat farts with the effort, and this is just ridiculous. Luke laughs at the absurdity of every little bit of the last five minutes, but the sound never makes it into the air. Bo's got it trapped in his own mouth now, must have swallowed it down into his belly, because it's gone. What replaces it is as serious as church. Bo means what he's doing right now, and Luke has no idea how to handle that fact, so he just keeps kissing back. Saves him from having to come up with words.


End file.
